The Runaways
by thenarcissistic-owl
Summary: When Thor and Loki are young boys, Loki convinces his brother to run away with him on an adventure to Jotunheim.
1. Chapter 1

When I run into the cavernous room, my brother is slouched down in his ornate wooden chair, half-asleep with a glazed look on his face. His tutor is lecturing him about the tactics of some long-ago battle in his creaky old voice, seemingly oblivious to the fact that my brother is falling asleep from boredom right in front of him. I feel a little flash of annoyance—he doesn't care about _anything _but playing stupid games with his friends!—but I push it away and run straight up to the tutor, who abruptly stops and blinks down at me. "My mother wishes to speak with you," I tell him imperiously. His eyebrows contract skeptically and he opens his mouth. "Now!" I say commandingly. He closes his mouth, turns slowly, and shuffles towards the door. I watch his hunched back until he leaves the room, then turn to my brother, who is sitting up straight in his chair, watching me with a question on his face. "Come on," I tell him. "We're going to Jotunheim."

For several seconds, he just stares at me, slightly suspicious. Then, as the idea of adventure takes over his hesitation—his open face is always so easy to read—he grins and jumps down from the chair. He grabs the huge, blocky hammer from the floor next to him—he's obviously straining to lift the ridiculous thing, it's half his size—but since Father gave it to him a few weeks ago, he's carried it everywhere.

We've hardly left the room when someone else comes out of another hallway and turns away to walk down the hall in front of us. Her shiny black hair ripples in the evening light streaming in through the high windows. I grab my brother's arm to warn him not to call out to her—Sif is his best friend, and I'm afraid he'll want to include her in our adventure. But she's always mean to me. I can just imagine it—she'll boss both of us around incessantly, and constantly taunt and tease me, and my brother will half-heartedly reprimand her but refuse to tell her to go away. Either I'll leave, or I'll play some cruel trick to get back at her and then they'll both be mad at me. I wish, just once, he would just tell her to go away—sorry, it's just me and my brother this time—but he stubbornly thinks we can all get along. He only sees the best in people, that's his problem.

All this flashes through my mind in a second, then I grab my brother's wrist and pull him sideways into a doorway, glaring at him urgently to warn him. He looks confused, and a little annoyed, but stays quiet, to my relief.

After a minute, when Sif has disappeared down the hall, we continue. As we approach the dining hall I hear Father's voice, loud and angry. A thrill of fear flashes through me, and I freeze and hold out my arm to stop my brother. He looks at me quizzically, and a moment later, hearing the loud, jarring voice again, I realize it's not real anger—he's telling a story, narrating an angry frost giant, or a gruff Midgardian, or one of thousands of other characters he's encountered on his journeys. His voice rises to a crescendo and there's a burst of laughter and applause from his assembled friends, the story seemingly finished. Imagining this—all of them gathered in the firelight, leaning back from the table, the remains of their dinner still scattered around them, these huge, rough, bearded men telling their dramatic tales of danger and glory—makes me hesitate, standing in the shadows outside the hall. What exactly am I hoping to gain by attempting to imitate them? I will never be one of them. I am nothing like them. No, but I am _better_, I tell myself, I'll show them _all_ what I am…but…no, we'll never be able to do it….My brother is watching me, his eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly open, his blue eyes confused, surprised at my sudden hesitation and fear. I stand still, stopped cold by indecision and doubt….

Later, as we run across the palace grounds silvered by moonlight, through the gates, and towards the dark, jagged mountains on the distant horizon, the stars spread out overhead and the night air cold and sharp in my throat, I'm still wondering at what I—we—have done and what we plan to do. My brother runs easily beside me, his face excited and determined, clearly impatient for the adventures ahead. Suddenly I wonder why my brother has come with me at all, without inviting his friends, without telling our parents. He'd never just run away like this with anyone else, not even Sif…but the sneaking away probably just adds to the excitement of the adventure for him….But why would he trust me, after all the times I've tricked him, lied to him, gotten him into trouble? Well, he sees the best in everyone, even me….We run on, under the dome of clear, bright stars, through the cold, silvery night, towards Jotunheim.


	2. Chapter 2

When I wake up Loki is gone. It's early morning, probably, still dark. The moon is low and it's bitterly cold. Earlier we walked for hours through the trees before stopping to rest. Loki conjured a fire and blankets for us. He lay down and was asleep in moments. I laid awake for a while longer, staring at the stars through the high branches. When I glanced over at Loki he was curled into a ball under his blanket, a half-smile on his face in the flickering light.

I can't have slept for more than a few hours after that. Now I sit up and look around the clearing. He's definitely gone. His blanket is rumpled on the ground. The little leather bag he was carrying is still there next to it. I don't see how anything could have captured or harmed him without waking me, but why would he just leave on his own? It doesn't make any sense—why would he ask me to come with him but then sneak away at the first opportunity? And why would he leave his bag behind? I sit for a minute, thinking over this, not sure what to do. And then Loki steps into the clearing.

"Where _were_ you?" I ask him, but as he steps closer I see that it's _not_ him. It's just an image, blurred around the edges. He hurries up and crouches down next to me, looking scared.

"Thor, _help _me, the giants—I stole the feathers—I was going to show you but—"

"Loki, _what happened?_"

He takes a deep breath. "I stole Freya's hawk plumage so I could fly too, only I wanted to test it, but it worked, and I flew north for a bit, and I saw a big hall, and I went down to look in a window, but they saw me, and they came and caught me, and they know the feathers are Freya's, and I had to tell them who I am because they said I must not be important and they might as well kill me, but I told them, and now they want to _trade_ me for Freya—"

"Wait, where are you now?"

"In a—cupboard, I guess, I told them I could send an image to Father to ask him, only I told them I had to be alone when I did it so they put me in here—"

"What did Father say to do?"

"What?...I didn't talk to Father—I—you have to help me!"

"No, tell Father what happened, he'll—"

"He'll never make Freya give herself up!"

"He—he can fix this—"

"_No_. You have to come—please, just UNGH" he yells as he is shoved to the ground by an unseen giant. His image flickers and changes, and now I can see what he must really look like—his sleek black hair now matted over his bloody, tear-streaked face. He flickers again and disappears.

I stand up and the blanket falls off my shoulders. I will fly back to the palace and wake Father, and he will fix this. He will make the giants release Loki, and we will both be safely home by sunrise. I reach down for my hammer—and stop….No, I realize, Loki is right. Father will never force Freya to give herself up, and he won't risk the fragile peace we have with the giants by forcing them to give up Loki. I stand frozen, thinking. Surely there is another way…but I know what I have to do. I pick up my hammer. It's incredibly heavy. I whirl it in a circle over my head once, twice, three times, and my feet lift off the ground. My arm is already burning as I rise out of the clearing and point the hammer north, towards the giants' hall.

I open my eyes and the hall comes into focus, sideways. My face is pressed against the rough stone floor. I lift my head and sit up slowly. The giants have moved away from me—they're clustered around the long table in the middle of the hall, shouting angrily at each other. Earlier, after one of them broke in on my conversation with Thor and pulled me back out of the closet, they spent quite a while gathered around me, jeering and laughing about what they would do to Freya once they got her, and hitting me every few minutes for entertainment. I had curled up in a corner and closed my eyes, hoping they would go away. Now, clumped around the rough table, they yell and jeer in their ugly, guttural voices, gesturing wildly, their filthy clothes flapping limply. _Idiots, _I think. My head is pounding and my face aches from where they hit me, but my mind is oddly cold and clear.

None of them have noticed me sit up. On the wall just to my left hangs a sort of tapestry made of furs. With my eyes fixed on the group of giants—still absorbed in their argument—I lurch forward and slip behind the tapestry. I glance back at the illusory image of myself still curled in the corner. Edging along to the other end of the stiff, scratchy tapestry, I look ahead towards the massive doors at the other end of the hall, barred firmly closed. There are more tapestries and several immense stuffed boars along the walls, and with the giants still absorbed in their argument, getting to the door might not be too difficult.

Perched on a rough stone wall, I look through the small, grimy window and see my brother curled in the far corner of the huge shadowy hall. Three of the largest giants are gathered around a table, gesturing and shouting, while the others hang back, watching. Swinging my hammer around, I leap off the wall and swoop towards the doors. I fly faster and faster, the cold air stinging my face, and then I smash, hammer first, into the doors. They explode inward with a huge banging and crumpling. Shards of wood fly everywhere. The giants are turning towards me, shocked, as I shoot upwards toward the ceiling. I'm flying toward the back, to Loki, and I am so close to the ceiling that the hammer is chipping splinters off the beams as I pass them, but the giants are bigger than I had imagined and they are reaching for me with their huge hands. I'm almost there when one catches my ankle and we both crash to the ground, sliding across the rushes that are scattered over the stone. I jump to my feet and see a giant holding the point of a huge spear to Loki's neck, a cruel grin on his face. "Little Thor Odinson," he growls. His voice is full of icy amusement. "Move once more and your _brother_ dies."

I freeze. After a few pounding heartbeats I straighten up, lowering my hammer to the floor. The giant's smile widens as the others step back, and he lifts his chin, triumph on his face. I see a flash of movement at the edge of my vision. As I turn towards it I see my brother's image melt away, and the real Loki is standing in the doorway. "THOR GO," he screams desperately, and whirls around and runs into the darkness. The giants are turning back towards me but I'm already flying. A jolt of pain shoots up my arms as I smash through the ceiling. I turn in midair and spot Loki running toward the trees. I plunge toward him. The giants are coming, pounding across the frozen ground, screaming, as I grab Loki's wrist and we take off into the cold night, toward the bright stars.


End file.
